


Necessity

by Ambrosya Sylva (Ambrosya)



Series: Lessons [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-22
Updated: 2010-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:42:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrosya/pseuds/Ambrosya%20Sylva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding herself unexpectedly pregnant and charged with the task of uniting Ferelden against the Blight, Aedina Cousland copes with the loss of Duncan and the difficult decisions that lay ahead of her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Necessity

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning**: This chapter touches upon a potentially hot-button "real-world" political/moral issue. If you're of a nature that is inclined to be offended by a work of fiction which contains references to characters committing acts you may find unconscionable in the real world, you would be advised to not read this. **I WILL NOT** engage in any debate on the rightness or wrongness of the issue in question after the fact, and will delete all comments which attempt to start any such debate.
> 
> **Disclaimer**: Dragon Age: Origins and the characters therein are the property of BioWare. If they were mine, Duncan would not be dead, and he'd totally be romance-able.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Notes**:This is a follow-up to my previous story, _The Testing_, and is based upon the events therein and in the follow up to that piece, _Regret_, specifically that Duncan and the f!Cousland PC had a sexual relationship prior to Ostagar. I took some liberties with the scene involving Duncan in The Fade/Weisshaupt. Given my premise, I believe Aedina's meeting with Duncan in The Fade would have taken quite a different tone.
> 
> I have not yet gotten around to _The Stolen Throne_ nor _The Calling_ and therefore may have gotten some details of Ferelden and Grey Warden lore incorrect. Anything I have written tracks with the information available at [the wiki](http://dragonage.wikia.com), for what that is worth.
> 
> [Relevant quote from David Gaider is relevant](http://social.bioware.com/forum/1/topic/47/index/455504/2#455902): _"A Grey Warden can have a child... just not with another Grey Warden. So in the case of Alistair being married to a female PC the only possible result is no heir (unless Alistair has a child with someone other than his wife, I suppose). Grey Wardens have a limited chance of conception with a non-Grey Warden, but it does happen... and the child is not tainted in any fashion."_ (for those of you wondering if Duncan would be capable of impregnating a woman)
> 
> Thank you to rhiannonhero and khazarkhum at LJ for beta-reading and feedback.

"...we can begin the Joining immediately."

"And what if we have second thoughts?" Aedina asked abruptly, her heart pounding as she ignored the startled glances Ser Jory and Daveth sent her way. Throughout their mission into the Korcari Wilds, she'd been quietly resolute about completing their objective so that they might move ahead with the Joining. Only when she'd questioned Alistair about it, heard the worry in his voice, had she expressed any misgivings. Indeed, she had already asked him much the same question and been informed that there was no way out.

Nonetheless, she needed to hear Duncan confirm it.

He did, his dark eyes meeting hers, solemn and pitiless. "Let me be very clear on that point. You are not volunteers. Whether you were conscripted or recruited, you were chosen because you are needed. There is no turning back now. You must gather your courage for what comes next."

By dint of will she prevented her hand, suddenly a-tremble, from rising to cover her womb protectively. Duncan noted the twitch of movement and his eyes traced the invisible route her hand hadn't taken, then rose to her face again, his gaze shuttered. Aedina stared at him in shock, suddenly voiceless.

_He knows._

"I will not lie," Duncan continued, answering the question she'd not even heard Daveth speak as though nothing at all had transpired. "We Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree you pay your price now rather than later."

_Darkspawn blood is poison, y'see?_

Poison. She closed her eyes against the image of the warhounds, whining and writhing in agony in their kennels as the houndmaster worked ease their suffering. Now Duncan knowingly proposed that she take that tainted blood within herself, that she risk not only her own life, but possibly the life of the child within her.

It was on the tip of her tongue to blurt out an adamant refusal, but something in Duncan's unremitting gaze, in the lack of expression on his face, stilled the words ere she spoke them, and caused a shiver of fear to run through her. Despite these past weeks and the nights they had passed together on their journey south, she did not know this man, save for his one guiding principle.

_The Wardens do what they must._

Moments later she at last began to comprehend just how earnestly he'd meant that as he unflinchingly killed Ser Jory for attempting to refuse. He parried Jory's swing with graceful ease and thrust his blade almost effortlessly through a chink in the knight's armor. Aedina watched in horror as Jory crumpled at Duncan's feet, the rapidly-spreading pool of his blood creeping outward until it began to seep around Daveth's corpse as well.

Jory had been an idiot, going after his sword like that. She'd sparred with Duncan too often to believe she might stand any chance if it came to that.

_It is the price we pay._

Jory had had a wife and a child on the way. If Duncan could not be swayed by that, how could she expect any other result? Would it even matter to him that the child was his own? Or would he kill her with the same grim efficiency? Would the hands that had bestowed such ardent caresses upon her body claim her life, as the voice that had filled her ears with sounds of passion then murmured a tender apology?

_There is no turning back..._

And then there was a chalice in her hand, and Duncan's eyes were intent and unrelenting upon hers, his voice devoid of the kindness and warmth she had come to know during those nights in his arms. "You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good..."

Trapped, horrified, and despairing of any reprieve, she raised the chalice to her lips.

 

* * * * *

 

"Have you yet reached a decision?" Save for the occasional sort snore from Alistair's tent, the night was almost silent--between the coming winter and the approaching Blight, the Maker's creatures had fled the Hinterlands, leaving an eerie stillness in their absence--until the dispassionate voice of the witch intruded upon Aedina's reverie as she stood watch over their campsite.

Morrigan had been sullen on their journey north, speaking only to fling scathing remarks at Alistair or Jace. That she should approach now, the day before they were to finally reach Lothering, surprised Aedina. It took a moment for the woman's words to make any sense, and when they did, Aedina bristled.

"You speak as though I had left some room for doubt in my refusal."

"You were overwrought," Morrigan replied, waving her hand dismissively. "Recovering from your wounds, finding the rest of your army had perished...perhaps you were not all that attentive to what Mother told you before we left the Wilds."

"Quite the contrary, I attended her words most carefully."

"Then you know what is at stake, and also that time is a limiting factor. If you delay too long, not even the strongest potion I am able to prepare will be certain to accomplish the deed."

"I am not delaying. I have refused, and shall continue to do so."

"Then you are a fool," the witch's tone assumed a heavy note of contempt. "How do you propose to battle the archdemon with a great belly encumbering your ability to fight? Do you think your armies will be willing to follow you to war once they notice their leader is heavy with child?"

"Alistair is the senior Grey Warden. I assume _he_ will be leading--"

"I would caution you against making any such assumption. That fool boy has been quite content to allow you to make the decisions since we left the Wilds; do not look to that situation to change anytime soon. He is not a leader."

Unable to truthfully rebut the witch's assertion, Aedina nodded, her shoulders straightening imperceptibly. So be it. True, she'd been trained to govern a teyrnir rather than lead troops in battle; that had been Fergus' intended role. Still, command was command. She would need to clarify with Alistair just what their roles were to be, lest there be any conflict on the matter, but she would lead if she must.

"So I ask again," Morrigan persisted, "What is it you intend? Do you mean to simply bide your time until after you've been delivered and hope the Blight shall considerately remain in abeyance until a more convenient moment?"

"The babe appears to have survived the Joining," Aedina argued. "I must at least give him a _chance_..."

"Even if time allows you the luxury of bringing your child to birth and he proves to be unaffected by the taint," Morrigan insisted, "What then? Shall you drag an infant about Ferelden as you gather your army? Lay him aside whenever you encounter roving bands of darkspawn you must fight?"

"No, of course not, I would find a family to foster him with..."

"Really?" the witch scoffed. "With whom? Just who are these friends and allies you would call upon? From what I have gathered from the gossip along the road, the ranks of those willing to lend aid to the last remaining Cousland are sparse indeed."

Morrigan paused, allowing her words to sink in, before she continued, "And what of the other possibility? I know Mother discussed it with you."

Aedina winced, her arms closing over her belly protectively. "Yes, I heard her warnings there as well. We do not know what effect my exposure to the tainted blood might have had upon the babe. He may be..."

"...a _monstrosity_," Morrigan's voice was cold and merciless.

"Any babe may come to birth deformed," Aedina protested, feeling ill. "It's a leap of faith we take..."

"That may be true, but rumors of the secret rites and nature of the Grey Wardens are dire enough among the common folk. You are not just any woman, you are a Grey Warden. Should _you_ of all women give birth to such a creature, should word of it get out, what chance do you then think you will have at compelling the armies of Ferelden to honor your treaties and fight at your side?"

Looking away, Aedina waged an internal battle against the tears that seemed ever-ready to rise these days. She knew Morrigan would only ridicule the consideration that the child she carried was the last of the Cousland line, the continuance of which her mother had charged her with as they fought their way through Highever Castle to the servant's exit in the larder. She had a duty to her family...

_A duty which was abrogated the moment you became a Grey Warden._ Her eyes closed tightly at the voice she heard inside her head; Duncan's voice, at once sympathetic and implacable. _You were told as much before we left Highever; the duty of the Grey Wardens supersedes all--even filial loyalty._

Desperately, she pleaded with that voice, begging for understanding. _I_ can't! _Please don't ask it of me. All else I shall sacrifice to end this Blight if I must, even my very life, but someone must remain to continue the Cousland line and reclaim what has been stolen from us!_

But his calm, pitiless voice answered, _And who shall continue the Cousland line when your child, when Highever, when Ferelden and even all of Thedas is consumed by the Blight? It is by our sacrifices that petty considerations such as which dynasty shall rule which land even remain possible._

Though her entire body trembled with the effort not to yield to her sobs, when she finally looked back to the witch, her eyes were dry, her expression defeated. "You've made your point. I shall...consider your offer. Carefully."

Morrigan appeared to be on the verge of arguing, but instead gave a brusque nod, turning to return to her lean-to shelter. "'Tis all I ask. Just keep in mind what I have said about the amount of time you have in which to act."

 

* * * * *

 

It wasn't until they reached Lothering that Alistair began to question their plans, and Aedina understood that he indeed intended for her to lead them.

"I thought we should talk about where we intend to go, first."

"We need to hear some news before we decide," Aedina answered, concerned. In truth, she already had a route for their mission laid out in her mind, but the words of the bandits they had dispatched just a short while ago troubled her. The Grey Wardens were being accused of killing King Cailan, and now she found herself with a bounty upon her head. What little hope she'd had of rallying support with the Cousland name was now obliterated. Between Howe's calumnies and her association with the Grey Wardens, the Cousland name could very well buy her passage to the gallows, but would afford little else.

"But we need to decide what our general plan is for afterward, don't we?" Alistair persisted. "I _think_ what Flemeth suggested is the best idea. These treaties...have you looked at them?"

"Yes, I have," she nodded, refraining from pointing out that he'd been too absorbed in his grief to notice her poring over the scrolls by the campfire. "I am concerned about the mages; the Circle was at Ostagar and we don't know the severity of their losses. If we're going to call upon the Circle for aid, then we need to first and foremost assess what their state of readiness may be and what aid they shall require. The earlier we do that, the better."

Aedina found herself standing straighter as she spoke, her voice acquiring that same note of authority she'd used with the guards in Highever. The mantle of command settled almost naturally on her shoulders, and she could see Alistair's posture change as well, relaxing. Morrigan had been right.

So be it.

"So we'll head west," she continued, withdrawing her map from her pack. "We'll travel to the Circle Tower first, then to Redcliffe. It's not actually the least-time route, but I believe it to be the most advantageous. I admit," she shrugged somewhat helplessly, "I don't know how fast a Blight spreads, nor what sort of luxury of time we may be dealing with."

Alistair seemed relieved to find she'd thought the matter through so carefully and nodded as they continued into the village. "I'm afraid I don't either. No one in living memory really does."

Aedina's confidence in her carefully laid-out plan lasted precisely as long as it took them to encounter Ser Donall in the Lothering chantry and learn of Arl Eamon's illness and the scattering of Redcliffe's knights. Once the knight departed, she hissed a fertile oath, one which would have brought the wrath of her mother immediately down upon her head. She half-turned, expecting some sort of chastisement, but the only response was the violent reddening of Alistair's neck and ears.

"Not entirely sure the Chantry would agree the Maker possesses that particular body part," she heard him mutter as they stalked to the back of the Chantry to seek out the Reverend Mother.

 

* * * * *

That night in Ostagar, nearly all her hope had been stripped from her. Cailan was dead; there would be no royal reprisals to bring justice for the Couslands. Seeing the devastation the darkspawn were wreaking upon the remains of the king's army littering the valley floor, she could no longer cling to the faint chance that her brother may have survived. Only the chance, however remote, that the child within her might yet live and carry on the Cousland line gave her any solace.

In the midst of that hopelessness and isolation, it came as a surprise when she realized that she actually liked Alistair.

"Would you like to talk about Duncan?" she asked him one evening by the fire after they had departed Lothering.

"You don't have to do that," Alistair attempted to brush away her overture. "I know you didn't know him as long as I did."

"That doesn't mean I don't mourn his loss," she answered, not meeting his eyes.

From that common grief, an greater understanding was born.

At first, he'd seemed to her nothing more than a bumbling boy, the sort of awkward youth she'd disdained back in Highever. An exceptionally skilled warrior, that much she knew before they even returned from the Korcari Wilds, and yet so very untried in so many ways.

Remembering Duncan's indulgence of her own grief in the early days of their journey from Highever, she carefully made a point to accommodate his brooding to the best of her ability along the journey to Lothering, and to be sympathetic to the waves of sorrow that would overtake him whenever the subject came up. When Morrigan taunted the former templar about his mournful state, Aedina found herself snapping at the witch to back down.

Once they departed Lothering to travel west to Lake Calenhad and north to the Circle Tower, he began to emerge from his grief and Aedina found herself engaging him in conversation. First, about the Grey Wardens and eventually about himself. She quickly realized that, like Duncan, he was a kindred spirit. He had known what it was to be trapped by duty and expectation, all the while desiring something other, something greater than to live his life following the plans which had been laid in place without his consent. Indeed, her own restlessness and _ennui_ seemed almost trifling, the spoiled pouting of a bored noblewoman, in comparison to the fate Alistair had nearly had forced upon him.

The traits that had made Duncan take such risks to conscript Alistair were the very traits that had drawn her to Duncan that fateful day in Highever, and she found herself warming to the former templar. His humor made her smile even when the obligations she found herself bearing seemed impossibly overwhelming.

If there was one element of discomfort in the whole situation, it was that he occasionally made tentatively flirtatious overtures...and for once she found herself at a disadvantage. She'd played the flirtation game with the most highly polished of courtiers. Indeed, it seemed she'd been trained in it from birth, to apply charm with a precision as deft as that with which she wielded her daggers, to use it to navigate her way through the complicated maze of Ferelden politics. The "softer arts" her mother had called it, knowing well just what a deadly and potent weapon it could be.

But that seemed to have happened in another lifetime. Almost by instinct, vapid, insincere responses would rise to her lips only to choke her as they froze in her throat. She could not do it. She couldn't spew double-edged flattery and coquettish innuendo at this desperately earnest man. Even if she believed he had the slightest idea of how the game was played--or that it was even a game at all--she hadn't the heart for it.

The pampered, glittering creature that had once called herself Lady Aedina Cousland was dead. She'd fought too hard to accomplish that very end to turn around and resurrect her at this late date.

Still, neither did she have it within her to ask him to desist. It was pleasant to be complimented by someone who meant it as something more than mindless flattery or a means of gaining a tactical advantage in the arena of politics, and Alistair was not an unattractive man by any stretch of the imagination. Although, to complicate matters, she'd discovered the disturbing accuracy of the gossip she'd overheard from time to time among visiting noblewomen and the knights' wives, particularly regarding the sorts of dreams a woman experienced while pregnant.

"Funny the dreams you'll have when sleeping on the cold, hard ground, isn't it?" Alistair had opined while attempting to deflect her questions about his relationship with Arl Eamon. "Are you having strange dreams?"

Only ones where we're making mad love in my tent, she almost found herself answering, catching it just in time to avoid embarrassing herself and responding playfully instead, "Yes. They all involve strangling you."

Dreams aside, she was too heartsore and weary to give any serious consideration to the possibility of pursuing Alistair at present. She may not have been in love with Duncan, but he'd left his stamp upon her soul nonetheless. She felt his absence keenly. She missed his calm, capable surety and she missed the safety she'd felt when he lay beside her. She missed the passion that made her cares flee to the farthest recesses of her mind for a time. She felt unable to form any sort of emotional attachment at present, and she knew without asking that Alistair was not one to engage in a dalliance even if she'd been interested in one. Duncan's voice still lingered in her mind, guiding her, reasoning with her when she felt uncertain of the course she should take. She wasn't ready yet to bid him farewell and move on.

She carried the knowledge of the full extent of her acquaintance with Duncan within her as secretly as she carried the babe that had resulted from it, for it was not Alistair's business and never would be. All it could accomplish would be to diminish his sense of hero worship of his mentor. Let him believe that he alone cherished some special attachment to Duncan.

Did she mourn him? Oh, Maker, yes. In those early days when the loss was fresh and new and she'd found herself thrust into the role of assembling an army while evading the machinations of a traitor. Each decision she made, she questioned whether Duncan would have done the same, whether he would have approved. The burden felt impossibly heavy, and yet no one else was willing to bear it.

She remembered the last time she'd seen him; so very grave as he issued instructions for the mission she and Alistair were to complete in the Tower of Ishal. And then, just before he left to join the king's vanguard, the very briefest flicker of anguished sorrow and confusion crossed his face as his eyes dropped ever so swiftly to her abdomen again. Just that fleeting glimpse of emotion that told her these events had not left him unmoved, that deep within, in a place he would allow no one to see, he understood and mourned the potential sacrifice he'd asked her to make.

And in that instant, she understood that Cailan's decision to detach her and Alistair from the rest of the Grey Wardens and assign them to the Tower of Ishal had been no mere coincidence. Duncan had not been able to spare her the Joining, even knowing that she carried his child, but he would keep her from the battle if he could.

_May He watch over us all._

She wanted to say something, to share that moment of pain and uncertainty with him, to make an attempt to forge a connection that was deeper than the mere sharing of their bodies. He'd told her he could offer her no future, and yet he'd given her exactly that in the form of the child within her, and then attempted to vouchsafe that future by what few means lay within his grasp. Absorbed in her own grief and fear and confusion, she'd failed to see--or perhaps he'd simply hidden it well--the softening within him that might allow for the possibility of more.

The moment was passing, yet no words would come. Under her startled stare, the half-formed expressions of tenderness, of confusion, of thanks frozen on her lips, Duncan had sighed and walked away, and she had never seen him again.

 

* * * * *

 

Awareness came upon her suddenly, as though waking from a dream, but she was standing, fully clothed, in a beautiful stone courtyard. Nearby a fountain splashed, a peaceful, soothing sound that lulled and contented her. The sun warmed her skin, dappled with shadows cast by the leaves of tall plants in stonework pots. A cool breeze buffeted her from between massive marble columns and she could hear the shrill cries of unfamiliar birds.

Hands closed on her shoulders, and she jumped as a scratchy face began nuzzling her neck, making her shiver.

"Ah, there you are," Duncan's voice filled her ears, sounding entirely too self-satisfied. "I'm not disturbing you, am I?"

Aedina shook her head, confused. An image in her mind of a deformed creature--abomination, the thought echoed in her head--began to fade. She felt herself relaxing, becoming pliant beneath his touch. "I--I can't quite remember what I was doing."

"No doubt you were looking for that terror known as our child," he answered, chuckling against her ear. His hand worked its way under her tunic, cupping her breast. He thumbed the peak, teasing it to tautness. She felt a pang of familiar, delicious tension thrum through her belly. "Driven you to distraction again, has she? Well, not to worry, I saw little Lady Eleanor just a few minutes ago chasing her Uncle Alistair around."

"Our chi--?" she pulled away from his touch, turning to face him in shock. At the sight of his face, she felt a nagging sense of wrongness hovering somewhere on the edges of her consciousness, as though she were forgetting something she was supposed to have done. Just as quickly as it came, however, it was gone, and in its place was a rush of warm memories, of a child with chestnut curls suckling at her breast while Duncan looked on, smiling, and a mop-headed girl toddling along adoringly after Alistair up and down marbled corridors. Why, though, couldn't she remember when she'd had the child, or how they had come to be here?

Oblivious to her consternation, Duncan took her by the hand and guided her toward a comfortably padded bench made of the same stonework as the pots for the plants. As gradually as it had come, the hint of disquiet receded, replaced by a warm wave of peace. Unable to find a rational reason to dismiss the pleasant lassitude making her limbs so heavy, she allowed herself to be pressed down upon the bench, Duncan leaning over her, his hand stroking her bare thigh beneath her skirt as he kissed her. She yielded to the insistent pressure of his mouth, her tongue flicking out to caress his lips.

Like the ebb of the tide, the lull of contentment faded, and once again Aedina found herself uneasy. She broke the kiss, staring with wide eyes into Duncan's smiling, strangely empty face. "Wait," she said before she even knew she'd had any intention of speaking. "You're supposed to be dead."

"Dead? Me?" He threw back his head, giving a full, rich laugh. At the sound, that tidal surge of relaxation washed over her, pulling her beneath and soothing her. His hand slid further up her thigh, teasing along the curve of her hip at the edge of her smallclothes, and almost against her will she felt her thighs slide apart, willing him to touch her where that eager pulse was getting stronger, yearning for more. His laughter was like warm honey, coating her nerves, flowing through her mind and filling her head with suggestive images. "I have been close many times, but never quite made it all the way."

His hand moved to her inner thigh, where he scraped her skin gently with blunt fingernails. Aedina gasped, her head falling back, and he took the opportunity to nip at her neck with his teeth, applying just enough pain to the pleasure to make sensation sizzle along her nerves until logical thought was nearly impossible. His fingers slipped under her smallclothes, dancing along her slick cleft. "I just wanted to make sure you were happy here, in Weisshaupt," he whispered, nibbling her earlobe. "These grand halls were built by the first Grey Wardens. Isn't it breathtaking?"

"I don't know," she sighed, grasping for the thread of rationality that seemed to hover just beyond her reach. "Something doesn't seem right."

His mouth covered hers, and she drank him in, drowning in the kiss, in the sense of peace, and joy. She reclined against the scrolled arm of the bench, taking his weight upon her. His soft tunic and trousers seemed to bestow their own caresses where they brushed against her skin. Her hands threaded through his hair and pulled it from its queue. But when his fingers parted her, something cold crashed over her, making her jerk away, and finally she was able to take hold of the unease that persisted in plaguing her.

"Why are we here when we should be battling darkspawn?" she gasped against his lips, her head clearing.

"The darkspawn are gone, remember?" Duncan's fingers began questing again, but she shook him off, rising from the bench and letting her simple skirt slide back down her legs. "You were there in that last great battle. It was a triumph for all of us, bringing down the archdemon and setting the underground lairs ablaze."

Aedina paced, nervous and suddenly chilled despite the warmth of the sun. "Then what shall the Grey Wardens do?"

"The Grey Wardens shall be keepers of history," Duncan leaned indolently on the arm of the bench, shrugging. "We shall tell tales and sing songs of a more tumultuous time, that others may rejoice in knowing that that time is past."

Incredulous, Aedina crossed her arms before her to find she was in the reinforced leather of her armor--surely she'd been dressed differently a moment ago?--with the familiar weight of her daggers hanging from her shoulders. "The Duncan I know would never rest on his laurels."

"The Duncan you know was a man forged in the fires of war," he responded, unconcerned. "I am different now, at peace. I have learned to be tranquil."

"Tranquil?" she scoffed. "You mean sedated." Memories were coming faster now, more clearly. She recalled the Circle Tower, filled with monstrous creatures, and one in particular offering her a chance to rest, to lay down her burdens.

"Foolish child," the demon--for now she knew it for what it was, and felt filthy where its hands had touched her--rose from the bench, dressed in Duncan's armor and wearing his face. "I have given you so much and you cast it back in my face. Can you not be content with the peace I offer?"

Recalling the soothing, pleasant warmth, she felt herself being pulled, dragged back under, and the impulse to yield was strong. Aedina dug her fingernails into her palms, resisting. "You offer complacency, not peace."

The creature drew Duncan's sword, advancing upon her menacingly. "It seems only war and death will satisfy you. So be it! Have your war and your darkspawn! May they be your doom!"

 

* * * * *

 

It was after they had left the Circle Tower that Aedina questioned Alistair about the nature of the Grey Wardens, sitting across the campfire from him as they shared the watch while Wynne and Leliana slept in their tents nearby. Beyond them, yet another new tent had been erected, containing the latest addition to their absurdly mismatched force; an elven assassin from Antiva.

She and Alistair shared many conversations this way, and this evening for the first time, Alistair began to ask her about herself.

"So, um...where did you learn to fight?" his voice was hesitant, as though afraid of giving offense. "When I first saw you at Ostagar, I was a bit surprised at your...skill."

Oh?" Aedina blinked, surprised. "Why is that?"

He bit his lip, fumbling for words, "Well, it's just that...you're a noblewoman...and..."

Aedina laughed, amused by his discomfort as he let whatever he'd intended to say trail off lamely. "You say the Chantry educated you. Surely then you know the tale of Queen Moira?"

"Of course," he answered a bit defensively, "But that was many years ago. I don't know many noblewomen, naturally. Just Arlessa Isolde, but _she_ is certainly no fighter of any kind. Maybe that's just because she's Orlesian. But there weren't many female templar initiates, either, and definitely none from the nobility."

"I see," she nodded. "My sister-in-law was Antivan and she seemed to think it unusual as well...although she did occasionally make mention of poison. At any rate, whatever the customs in Orlais or Antiva, it's not so rare among Fereldan nobility as you might assume. Though, come to think of it, it does appear to have become less fashionable recently."

She paused as Alistair digested her words and continued when he nodded, "My mother fought in the war with Orlais. A battle maiden, she called herself. Back then, it was something of a point of pride for the nobles opposed to the Orlesian occupation to dedicate their whole households to the cause, even their children. She fought in her first battle before she was sixteen, and eventually she was given command of a corps of archers under her father's banner, Bann Doughal of White River. Mother liked to claim it was the softer arts that landed her a husband, but that was merely her way of convincing me there was some merit to gentility. I happen to know that it was in battle that she and my father met. Once they married, she took over the duties as teyrna and mounted a very successful defense of the teyrnir while my father continued to lead troops in the offensive and drove out Orlais."

Alistair pursed his lips thoughtfully. "You would have been born...shortly after the war ended?"

"On, no. Quite some years later," she smiled softly, warmed by loving memories of her parents. "Though they never confirmed it, the timing is such that I suspect my brother was the result of father's homecoming celebration. Then there was a long period filled with many losses before I was born."

"And so your mother taught you to fight?" Alistair prompted.

"Well, _allowed_ me to be taught, really. I never particularly cared for archery. Oh, I'm proficient enough if necessary, but my armsmaster quickly declared I was a scrapper and taught me to use the daggers. Much to mother's dismay."

"Why would she be opposed?"

"I've never been entirely certain," Aedina answered, frowning. "She seemed to believe I should have the ability to fight, but not that I should ever actually use that ability except in the most dire emergency. It's all very confusing. As I said, among the nobility it has become much less fashionable to train daughters up to fight. I think, perhaps, it's their means of distancing themselves from the days of the Orlesian occupation. Some subtle way of asserting Ferelden's independence, showing we are not the same people we were then. It's still all well and good for common women to go to war, but training their daughters to wield arms and fight against foreign usurpers is what Ferelden nobility did when they had no other choice, trapped beneath the heel of the Orlesians. Now that it's no longer necessary, it's considered somewhat gauche. Whatever the reason, despite my training, Mother was very determined that my primary objective should be to marry well and provide her with grandchildren."

"Have you always done that?" Alistair asked, apparently apropos of nothing, studying her closely.

"Done what?"

"Dissected and analyzed politics and people so astutely."

Taken aback, she blinked, grateful for the firelight that made her blush indiscernible. "I suppose I have. Truthfully, I think I understand now why Duncan recruited me, and it wasn't because of my skill with my blades. I'm a competent fighter, but that's nothing extraordinary. It was in politics that I received my most rigorous training. There was a good chance I was going to take over the teyrnir one day, after all. It was important that I understand the inner workings of Fereldan politics."

"Better you than me," Alistair snorted.

Puzzled as to why he might think he'd be called upon to know anything about the politics of nobility, Aedina fell silent. After a long moment, she finally spoke again, giving voice to the questions that plagued her.

"What changes about you, after the Joining?" she affected a nonchalant manner, as though the question only arose from idle curiosity.

He paused in poking the fire idly with a long stick. "You mean other than becoming a Grey Warden?"

She shrugged. "You've been a Grey Warden longer than I have."

Flattered, Alistair gave an abashed grin. "Hmm. You know, I asked Duncan this, too, and all I got was, 'You'll see.'"

She gave a decidedly un-genteel snort. "Just try that line on me."

"I can think of much better lines for you," Alistair's voice dropped to something akin to a purr, and something within her tingled pleasantly in response. Almost reflexively, she found herself replying in kind.

"Really? Why don't you try them?"

She could have kicked herself the moment the words left her lips, undoing all her determined resolve not to respond to Alistair's flirtations. Even worse that the tension within her increased at the warmth in his voice as he replied, "I might, just you wait."

Aedina was still flailing about for a response that would bring them back to the subject at hand when he took pity on her and addressed the initial question. "It's not that Duncan wants to keep it a secret. It's just that Grey Wardens don't discuss it much. I gather it's not a pleasant topic. The first change I noticed was an increase in appetite. I used to get up in the middle of the night and raid the castle larder. I thought I was starving. I'd slurp down every dinner like it was my last, my face covered in gravy. When I'd look up, the other Grey Wardens would stare...then laugh themselves to tears."

Her stomach gave a rumbling growl, reminding her of her own hunger, and she wondered if her pride could bear him seeing her grab another bowl of stew (thankfully, Leliana had cooked that night) still in the pot by the fire. Since leaving the Korcari Wilds she'd been attempting to hide her voracious appetite, certain it would give away her expectant state. "I haven't felt anything like that."

"Really? Because I was watching you wolf down food the other day and I thought, 'It's a good thing she gets a lot of exercise.'"

Her blushes quickly gave way to delight as she realized he'd just provided her with a perfectly convenient excuse for her apparently insatiable hunger, and went for the stew. "What can I say," she mumbled as she chewed. "I'm a growing girl."

"I'll say," Alistair retorted, then cringed as she threatened to throw the bowl at him. "Uh, I didn't mean it like that. Don't hit me! I bruise easily."

Smiling, she returned to her stew, trying to at least eat at a slower, more decorous pace, only half-listening as Alistair discussed the nightmares, a subject they visited regularly during these late-night watches. It wasn't until his face grew unexpectedly grave that she lowered her rough-hewn wooden spoon.

"Everyone ends up the same, though. Once you reach a certain age, the real nightmares come. That's how a Grey Warden knows his time has come."

Aedina swallowed, feeling her stomach tighten. "His time has come?"

"Oh, that's right. We never had time to tell you that part, did we?" With visible effort, Alistair made an attempt at levity. "Well, in addition to all the other wonderful things about being a Grey Warden, you don't need to worry about dying from old age. You've got thirty years to live. Give or take. The taint...it's a death sentence. Ultimately your body won't be able to take it. When the time comes, most Grey Wardens go to Orzammar and die in battle rather than...waiting. It's tradition."

She tried to draw a deep breath, but couldn't. Her lungs felt heavy and constricted, as though a giant weight had settled on her chest. Feeling cold sweat prickle her skin, Aedina thought perhaps the stew hadn't been a great idea after all.

"So I'm going to die." Her voice, so calm and accepting...surely that voice didn't belong to her.

"We are all going to die," Alistair replied with a sagacity she wasn't accustomed to hearing from him. "When Duncan told me, I was _angry_. He put his hand on my shoulder and said this: 'It's not how you die that's important. It's how you live.'"

Numbly, she nodded. That sounded so like Duncan, she could hear his voice saying the words.

"And you wondered why we kept the Joining a secret from the new recruits? Well, there you have it."

"I never wondered that," she said hollowly. And truly, she hadn't. That part of her that dispassionately analyzed political problems had grasped the necessity for secrecy as soon as she had learned what the Joining entailed. "I understand."

Whatever calm she managed to acquire on the heels of the knowledge of her eventual fate, however, was quickly undone by Alistair's next words.

"You know, Duncan...he started having the nightmares again. He told me that--in private. He said it wouldn't be long before he'd go to Orzammar himself. I guess he got what he wanted. I just wish it had been something worthy of him."

Whereas the firelight had earlier masked her blush, now it performed a similar service for her pallor. Aedina rose unsteadily to her feet, fighting against a rising gorge as Alistair's words sank in. She barely heard her own response as she spoke words of consolation about how Duncan would be remembered to alleviate Alistair's suddenly somber turn of mood. All the while, her skin crawled.

"I know," Alistair nodded grimly. "Ending the Blight...should make this all worthwhile, right?"

Unable to humor him with platitudes, Aedina excused herself and stumbled from the camp into the trees.

Dying. Duncan had been dying, and he'd never told her.

A near-hysterical sob rose in her throat, as her hands scrubbed futilely at her bare arms. She remembered the caresses Duncan had bestowed upon her, and felt ill to think they had been given at the hands of a dying man.

With the clarity of hindsight, now she understood the occasional moments when his demeanor had been brooding, even morose. She remembered the frenzied, desperate passion with which he'd embraced her, pinned her against a tree that morning before they reached Ostagar, and his sorrow afterward. He'd known, without ever telling her, that one way or the other, he would soon be dead.

And he'd trapped her into sharing his fate. He'd told her all along he could offer her no future, but he'd never let her know she'd been giving up any chance she had at a future of her own when she became a Grey Warden.

She wanted to scream, but she feared alarming her company and stifled the outcry, contained it to a shrill keening in her throat. Futilely she ripped the leaves off the creeping vines in the underbrush and flung them wildly away from her where they scatted in the night air, unmindful of the branches whipping at her as the thrashed through them.

Thirty years, or thirty days, what did it matter? Whether she died tomorrow battling the Blight or years hence in the Deep Roads, ultimately her fate would be all the same. She had no hope of a future, not even in the form of the child nestled in her womb. She knew what she must do.

Choking silently on sobs to which she dared not lend her voice, she sank to her knees at the base of a towering oak, huddling miserably between the massive roots rising up from the ground.

_You were right, Duncan,_ she thought in wild despair. _I do hate you._

 

* * * * *

 

It was there, curled around herself on the damp, cold ground, that the assassin came upon her. He approached with a great deal less stealth than she knew him to be capable of, but even so she eyed him warily for a moment, wondering if he might have come to finish his job. Then she closed her eyes, weary and nauseous. Let him murder her, then, if that was his aim. What difference would it make?

"I was awakened when the watch changed shifts," he said at last, casually. "As I have not yet been deemed trustworthy enough to guard our camp while the rest of you sleep, the lovely Orlesian bard has relieved your fellow Warden. But I did hear him express some concern that you had not returned to camp."

"Surely he didn't send you after me?"

"No, indeed not," Zevran chuckled at the absurd notion. "He was of a mind to come seek you out himself, but our fair Leliana cautioned him to let you have your privacy, and so he retired to his tent. I slipped away sometime after."

"I see," Aedina sighed, looking away. "And what is it you propose by finding me here instead?"

"I have a vested interest in your well-being, my dear Warden," he laughed. "I have little doubt that, should some ill fate happen to befall you, the others in our company would be considerably less merciful than you yourself have proven to be. Therefore, I felt I ought to check on you. Just to be safe, of course."

"Hmm. Yes, well, as you can see, I'm fine."

"Fine would be overstating the case, I should think," he paused, lifting an eyebrow at her. "The child, it is troubling you?"

Her weary complacency evaporated in an instant, and Aedina started at the Antivan in horror.

"Forgive me. I could not help but notice. One does not grow up surrounded by whores without learning to recognize the signs of a woman who is breeding and trying to hide it."

Stunned, she let her head fall back against the tree with a painful thud, and stared up into the dark, leafy canopy. Then his words began to sink in. She lifted her head and stared at him intently.

"You were raised in a brothel," she said self-evidently. "And you know your way around herbs and poisons."

"Yes...this is all true," Zevran answered, watching her cautiously.

"Then...you would know what I need."

Zevran frowned, then his eyes widened with understanding. "Yes. In fact, I once had a job where my objective was to prevent a dying nobleman's wife from bearing him an heir, so that the line of succession might pass to his younger brother. But...such arts as they are practiced amongst the whores are very crude. It would certainly make you quite ill. Surely Morrigan would know of a potion--perhaps even a spell--better suited to your needs. Or...even Wynne?"

"No!" Aedina shook her head adamantly. "Maker, no. Not Wynne. I couldn't bear a lecture, or any sort of well-meaning maternal solicitude."

"The witch, then..."

Again, she shook her head. "She...her interest in the matter is too keen. I don't know why, but I don't trust it."

"And you would willingly take poison from my hand?"

"Yes, well," she shrugged, unable to summon the energy to be concerned. "You've a vested interest in my well-being, have you not?"

 

* * * * *

 

Zevran had still not returned when Jace found her, huddled at the base of the tree. The ground was cold and damp beneath her and a tree root jabbed into the side of her thigh, but she did not move nor make any attempt to alleviate her discomfort. Winter was nearly upon them; she really ought not be out here without warmer clothing. A single, hysterical laugh escaped her, harsh and shrill. Whoever would lead her ragtag band against the Blight if she should collapse with the chills?

Jace nudged her shoulder with his muzzle, whining in concern, and Aedina let her head rest on his massively muscled trunk for a moment. Weary, dear Maker she was so weary! Since she'd awakened in Flemeth's hut rest had been scarce. The pace she had set for her companions had been demanding, and the child within her sapped her energy until she felt she might fall asleep even while her feet continued to trudge forward. Morrigan had given her pointed looks as Aedina stumbled and quickly regained her feet, shaking her head to clear it. She thanked Andraste that the changes wrought by the Joining and her injuries that night at Ostagar gave her convenient excuses for her instability and the occasional waves of nausea.

It now seemed fortuitous that there had been no boats of the appropriate size to take them south across the lake from the Circle Tower to Redcliffe. Despite the addition of many extra days of travel time, it had been that fact which had resulted in their encounter with Zevran, and which would give her some days to recover before they reached Redcliffe and whatever trials might await them there.

With her plan so neatly laid out before her, she waited, silent and exhausted, for Zevran to return with the means by which she would kill her child, the one thread of hope she'd been clinging to since Ostagar. The irony was not lost upon her that she was just a few days away from the place where she had pleaded with Duncan to help her feel alive. A fitting place to end it, she supposed.

She wondered if she would ever feel alive again.

Morrigan's dispassionate analysis of her situation had been correct. She could not run the risk that this child, exposed so early to the Taint, might be born a monstrosity. And even if she could, she could not fight the Blight while pregnant, and there was no one capable of handling the task even if she were willing to delegate it. And so she would do what she needed to do.

Morrigan would know, naturally, and wonder why Aedina had sought some means other than the one she offered. No matter. The witch's umbrage over Aedina's blatant refusal to trust her was a problem for another day. Perhaps she'd be so absorbed in the grimoire Aedina had found for her at the Circle Tower that she wouldn't notice, or care.

She thought, perhaps, her grief was too deep for tears and hysterics. As in those early days after fleeing Highever, she felt dry-eyed and numb. She could not afford to allow it to drown her as she had when she'd been safe under Duncan's care. Still, if Zevran should prove imprecise--or perhaps all too precise--in his art, she found she couldn't be troubled to care much for the consequences to herself. Perhaps she might even welcome the prospect of death; why else would she turn to a man who'd been hired to kill her for the solution to her problem?

A rustling in the underbrush penetrated her half-slumber as she rested against Jace, and she lifted her head as Zevran emerged, his face carefully impassive, carrying a vial and a cup. "Some water," he explained, lifting the pewter cup. "You will want to drink as much as possible, for you will be very ill over the next day or two. When you have emptied the vial, you should return to camp quickly, before it takes effect. I fear you shall be in no condition to make it back to camp otherwise, and no doubt the others will think the worst, should I emerge from the woods carrying you in such a state."

She took the vial from his hand and stared at it, feeling the hot, stinging rush of tears to her eyes, giving lie after all to her assumption that she'd been beyond them. Grimly she squeezed her eyelids shut, willing the tears back, but they would not be refused, and her face crumpled, her breath hitching on a sob. She could not bear to look at Zevran's face. He could not possibly share her pain, and a studiously blank expression would only make her sense of being so utterly alone worse. She turned her back on the assassin, dismissing him.

Her hand trembled as it clutched the vial, and everything in her balked, her muscles seizing, refusing to lift it to her lips. Tears poured down her face in rapidly-cooling rivulets and she rolled her eyes to the sky, overwhelmed by her hopelessness. Jace whined at her again, and Aedina shook her head violently, flinging salty droplets from her face in an arc.

_The Wardens do what they must,_ Duncan's voice badgered her, calm and remorseless.

Raising the vial, Aedina drank.


End file.
